Heart of the Swarm
by Malkvanbandy
Summary: Dreams and nightmares began to trouble the mind of a young Wraith pilot, and he realises there are forces at work after him, and he is forced to battle the enemy outside and inside his own head.
1. The third time

Preface:

I have taken my own liberty with this story: It does not follow the Starcraft story line, but is an entirely independent story, set in the Starcraft universe. As such, I have taken my own freedom with several units and their apperance, characteristics and abilities are often my own idea. the timeline is somewhere in between Brood war and Starcraft II, as you can guess from the details. As any writer I appreciate Constructive critique, but as I am from Sweden, English is not my native language, so please excuse me for the problems in spelling and grammar which are there, I just can't find em :)

*

The darkness of space seemed too shift and blur, distorting itself around a distant spot, forming a black hole which spun space around itself until the very stars were long blurry lines in the spirally vortex which pulled everything in to itself. It sucked in upon itself into an infinite beyond and giving an impression of travelling at impossible speeds. Longer and longer did it bring him, into a beyond way beyond the very edge of space, into the very heart of microcosmos, into the void between the stars. He was being pulled by a force stronger than anything he had ever felt, so strong that it had gripped him almost without warning and accelerated immediately into these imaginary speeds he was travelling. Fuzzy shapes seemed to whizz past him, or gather into coagulating moulds in front of him, only to disappear moments later, as if he was travelling through liquid.

A large, dark shape reared up before him, but it did not disappear like the others but instead solidified the closer he came, as if this was his goal, the force that dragged him. And suddenly he appeared to stop, as suddenly as he had begun to travel. Space floated out into comprehensible shapes, but he still did not know where he was, because there were no stars, suns or planets around. The darkness that was this place was not space, but seemed to be an entity of its own, summoned up to trap him in a personal prison. The shape that reared up was dark, but still darker than the surroundings who still were pitch black. It seemed that the darkness that it consisted of radiated itself upon his mind, so that he clearly could make up the shape of it even though he could not really see it in the darkness.

A pair of glowing red eyes glared out from it high above him, so that it appeared many times taller than him. He knew it was because this thing was immensely more powerful than him, that its very height seemed to be drawn from its power. The eyes stared out above, searched for something. They swept upon the invisible ground he was standing on, seeming to scorch it with its glowing power. He knew only that he needed to avoid this gaze above everything else, but the more he felt he struggled the more he stood fixed, like moulded into his shoes, and the red eyes swept closer and closer, searching for him. He knew now that it was he they searched for. He could feel it. Feel the stare in his head, the eyes were already looking at him. He felt the power they radiated, and this power burned him, flooded into his mind like a great torrent of burning lava, and he screamed with the pain for the eyes had found him found him and were looking at him and laughing and he was going to di

"Grant! Grant, for Zerg's sake, snap out of it!"

Reality awakened with the cool air that rushed to fill his lungs as he woke up. The radio buzzed into his ear with the harsh voice of his squad leader. He struggled to stabilise himself, concentrated on his breathing. That was the key. Breathe. His heart slowed. It'll pass. He reached out his trembling hands and grasped the controls before him. The familiar touch of the smooth handlebars slipping into fit his fingers told him that is was over. He was back. The Wraith had gone into autopilot when his mind had disappeared, and considering they were in the middle of empty space he could have hardly collided with anything, he considered over Lorharn's worry.

"Grant, talk to me. What the hell is wrong with you? Give me status report ASAP!" Sgt Lorharn was used to make commands, so much that even his civil talk was practically shouted, as if he needed to be heard over the 1.2 km of space between him and Grant. Even when asking if Grant was OK he was yelling at him. He was used to it. They all were, all seven of Wraith Squadron Juliet India.  
"I'm fine, Sarge" Grant replied." India Alpha, this is India Echo, proceeding with status report." He continued, although he heard his voice was still trembling. "All major systems functional, thrust, weapons, shields, life support, fuel, engine. Currently travelling at medium patrol speed, 182 km/h, patrolling medium rim, estimated time of arrival at turn point 22 minutes. Home base call sign is Tango Juliet. No enemy contact."

"I wasn't asking for your ship, I was asking for you" was the sergeant's quick reply.  
"I'm fine sarge, seriously." Damn it, stop trembling. "It was nothing, I just dozed of. Not enough sleep."

_That's what he said last time_

"That's what you said last time"

In his head, the sergeant sounded really worried. Not often that happened. But no wonder. He didn't know if he had screamed in his cockpit like he had screamed in the dream. If it really had been a dream. He wasn't sure. Not anymore.

_That's the third time he has done this…  
He looks pale, I wonder what he…  
Something is wrong…  
I'll show him not enough sleep…  
And if that happens then…  
We'll just have to…_  
"Seriously guys, I'm fine" he burst out. "Stop worrying so much"

The voices of his squad members still echoed in his head, but now they were reduced to a mere murmur. He tried to shut them out. He had always shut them out, and gotten used to it. But the nightmares had begun a mere month ago, and since then he had passed out like this twice on missions. Wrong, thrice. Johnson's voice corrected him. He set on autopilot again and buried his face in his palms. It had been so real: The darkness, the staring eyes, the pain, the screams… it hadn't been a dream. He had really been there. His mind had really been there.  
He felt like he wanted to sob. Why him, he had asked himself so many times? Why did he have to have these murmuring voices in his head, these powers, what he could do…

He remembered when he was fifteen and it had begun. He read the test answers out of his classmates head. He challenged them and beat them in poker. He played soccer goalkeeper and reacted so fast that he could catch any ball, if it so was kicked from a meter before him. But then he realised that he had to keep it a secret, no one could know. He had heard the stories. What happened to those who could do what he did. They took you away and planted things in your head and body and then you belonged to them, body, mind and soul. Forever. You did not even remember who you used to be, they said.

So no one knew. And no one could know. That's what he had told himself all these years, and it had worked, and no one had suspected anything, besides that he had an uncanny knack for never losing money on poker. But now…  
Something had happened, he knew it. When those eyes had found him something had happened. Something had found him.  
He shivered. His hands and face were cold from evaporating sweat.

"Grant, come in. This is Tobin. Is there something you want to tell me?"  
Tobin was on a separate channel. He didn't want the others to hear. But he could not tell him. He could not tell anyone.  
"I appreciate your concern, Tobin, I really do, but right now I just want to complete the mission. It'll be fine.

Tobin did not answer. He seemed content with the answer, but the silence told that he was still worried. Grant and the rest of the squad remained quiet for the rest of the patrol, but in the back of his head Grant could still hear them. As he had always heard them, but now something else was there. A feeling that something far out there had seen him, and begun to stir. And Grant had learned to rely on his feelings.


	2. The man

Tango Juliet was a Space Docking And Refuelling Platform, Large class, called STARP-L. It served as a stationary base for docking and storage of a part of the Kel-Morian Combine fleet. It lay about nine hours of deep-space flight from Mar Sara, and as such was one of the furthest outposts of Terran space. Zerg raids were frequent, thus the Large-class of the platform and the number of docked ships on standby. It was built to protect Combine space against Zerg attacks. Grant had often gazed out into the blackness in his quarters and known, that this was Terran territory, and if you chose to go further the next stop was Char.

The gargantuan shape of the nearest Battlecruiser dwarfed Grant's Wraith as he sped past it towards his own dock site. It reminded Grant of a row of cows, as they hung seemingly in midair, alongside their brothers. Ship upon ship was being milked up with fuel and ammo, the long, small tubes hanging like threads of cobweb upon their large hulk. Across the flat surfaces of the dock spaces small people well scurrying like ants all around. If Grant peered closely he could almost make out the plainly coloured of the technicians, the thick yet agile leathery suits of the pilots, and the bulking shapes of the security guards power armour.

He approached the small-vessel docking site, and the large open spaces of the Cruiser dock space was exchanged for the tall sides of the platform, were hundreds of small docking spaces were cut out for each craft. He passed row upon row of Wraiths and Valkyries, and even a few of the experimental Banshees. They said they would one day replace the Wraith, but Grant wasn't sure. He would sure never pilot a thing only carried up by propellers.

The landing clamps of his dock opened up like a friends arms about to hug him to welcome him home. He steadily brought the craft into the small space, perfectly cut out for the exact shape of a Wraith, and the clamps secured his ship firmly into dock position. He let out a sign of relief. What had happened during the mission no longer troubled him: he was home.  
"There's a small overheating on the left feed-thruster, it has caused the third vent to bend. You might want to check it out." He told the nearest the technician. He looked startled at what Grant was saying, but Grant was already on his way. How Grant knew this he did not know, but it did not matter. It would just help the technicians. What mattered now was to get some rest, it felt like what he had said to Lorharn had come true just by saying it. It would be good to get down, relax and

A quick feeling in the back of Grant's head told him everything. The world whispered to him what was about to happen, and he spun around 180 degrees and reached out his hands. Then another whisper, and instead he sidestepped and let the ball pass him. It whizzed past only centimetres from his chest, he could feel the wind grabbing his clothes. As it bounced away in the corridor Grant turned to look upon who had thrown it.

" Should have known I could never hit you" Tobin smiled, although with an effort: he was standing barely three meters behind Grant.  
"Maybe you just slipped and didn't throw so hard," Grant replied." It wasn't so hard to avoid it."  
Tobin looked at him, and then stared down the hallway. Grant followed his gaze: the ball had rolled almost a hundred meters, before being stopped by knocking down a small fuel can.  
"Not so hard, eh?" Tobin smiled again, with more effort this time.

_How the hell did he move so fast_…Grant sighed. He had reacted instinctively, not knowing that it could put him in trouble. Tobin was worried about him.  
"I appreciate your concern, Tobin, but I'm fine, really. I just want to rest and be left alone for awhile.  
Tobin's frozen smile told him that he had talked to Tobin's thoughts. Now he was even more worried. Grant tried to erase it by placing a hand on Tobin's shoulder and leading him out of the docks.  
"We'll get a beer sometime," he told him. "Like tomorrow. It'll be good."

Tobin smiled again, with effort, but not terrified this time." Yea, sure. It'll be good." The fact that it was Grant who had made the suggestion relieved Tobin. They walked together into the main platform, but before they passed the doors Grant looked across his shoulder at the ball.

*

Lt. Colonel Wickman was looking through his panorama window at the vast darkness beyond him when the knock reached his ears.

"Enter." He turned from his thoughts and reached out for his chair. The man who entered his office was tall, taller than ordinary man, but appeared slimmer than such. Appeared, because he was dressed in a long, black hooded cloak, which hid his body and left his face in shadow. His head was slightly bent forward, his hands folded before his midsection. The very posture gave a sense of inferiority, of shyness, as if Wickman was this man's lord or master. But to Wickman the man's figure gave him a sense of irony, of charade, as if the man thought that he was more powerful than Wickman.

"Lt. Colonel." The man bowed ever so slightly, but again with that small sense of irony. His voice was harsh and had a metallic undertone, which sent shivers into Wickman's spine. It did not sound like the voice of a man.

Wickman did no answer immediately. He sat down, poured himself a glass of water, but did not offer the man one. He leaned backwards in his chair, drawing his answer.  
"Yes?" The man had stood completely still and silent during the wait, and Wickman could not tell anything from him. Well, he thought, I can play too.  
"I contacted you earlier, because I represent a group of people who are very interested in the.."  
"Who do you represent?" Wickman broke in.  
"That is irrelevant" The man continued immediately." We are interested in a young pilot in Wraith squadron Juliet India, by the name of Grant. Call sign India Echo. I understand he lies under your command?"

Wickman was silent. He did not like this man. He did not want to tell him anything. He wondered why he did not call security at once.  
"What about him?" He said finally.  
"You know him?"  
"Of course, everyone knows Grant. What that boy has done…" Wickman felt strange. Why was he saying this? He did not want to say it, not tell the man anything.  
"What has the boy done?

I suppose it's alright, Wickman thought. He can know, he seems harmless.  
"Well, were to start? Graduated from pilot school a year in advance, top of class, served during the final stages of the Brood war before being deployed here. Same squad whole time, practically flawless mission log. That kid knows how to fly, I tell you."

He found he was telling this man everything, for who would not want to tell this man everything? He was such a nice, trustable man, he deserved to know everything. He deserved.  
"Remember when the Protoss attacked, about eight months ago? He manoeuvred straight through an entire Interceptor swarm right up to the Carrier and unloaded an entire missile payload into its core. And you should see him working Scourge! Through entire clusters, but does he get hit? No! He takes them all down with lasers. All of them! Flying straight through an entire swarm!"

He collapsed back into his chair, gripping his forehead.  
"I tell you, it's almost as if he can..."  
"Can see things before they happen" The man finished.  
"Exactly!" Wickman burst out. And then he began to laugh frantically.

The man smiled beneath his cloak, and then turned and left Wickman, still laughing in his chair.


	3. The dream

A thousand voices cried out in rage and despair, their cries clawing their way through the air to torture everything they met, to ensnare and shred whoever they would encounter. They spoke of fangs, claws and talons, of thrashed flesh and gushing blood. Where he stood he felt that they were looking for him, approaching him, but he could not feel them getting closer. Neither could he hear where the voices came from, it was as if they were coming from everywhere, as if the walls themselves were screaming.

He was standing in a large, open chamber, built up by coarse shapes and supported by bone-like structures which shone through the material, which to a strange extent looked like flesh. The walls were covered with a thick slime, which dripped down and echoed back and forth, so that the sound rose up to a mighty crescendo with every drop, and the raging voices were a great choir. Several large tunnels branched out from the chamber, their openings surrounded by large jagged teeth of slimy stalactites. But the voices came not from these openings, but indeed came from everywhere, from the fleshy walls themselves.

From the depths of the chamber arose the dark shape, greater and darker than ever before, or perhaps it was so that he had simply forgotten just how large it was. The eyes glowed, like two drops of fresh blood, and this time they stared directly at him. They held him fixed as he was paralyzed by great fear, not being able to move a single muscle. The shape reared up, and darkness folded out itself into two massive wings of shadow that stretched across the very room. And then it leaned forward, towards him but he did not dare to back up. Light struck onto its face and revealed the face of a woman, a woman beautiful like the glimmer of a knife's edge, like the flower that grows upon the fresh grave. Her skin was a pale green, her hair long, sharp tubes, but her eyes were the same eyes that had hunted him throughout his dreams, two drops of fresh blood, scorching the ground with power. And she opened her mouth and spoke, and her voice was the sound of flesh being ripped asunder by claws.

"I can see you"

The voices were inside his head, scratching, clawing, biting in his mind and he screamed and tried to get them out and she laughed and they had to get out out out out

Grant screamed. The first thought that entered his head was that he was cold. Then he saw that he was sitting in pitch darkness.  
Darkness, he thought. Not a slimy chamber full of screaming…

It had been a dream. He grabbed his temples. A dream, goddamnit. But not. He had really been there. He had really seen it all, heard it all, felt it all…  
He shivered, but not from the cold. They had been inside his head. His only place, his one sanctuary in this world had always been that no one could get inside his head. But now… He was breathing heavily. The soft touch of his sheets comforted him a little, but they were wet. He buried his face in his hands, feeling the beads of sweat upon his face.

He got up. He needed to do something. He could not sleep again. His reflection greeted him as he approached the mirror and turned on a small amount of light. He was paler than morning light on Braxis. Sweat ran down his arms and face, and he could not slow down his breath.  
He took a glass and drank some water. The cool liquid running down his throat woke him up, and enabled him to gather his thoughts.  
Why was this happening? And why him? Why was he having these dreams, and why now? He had been here a long time, and nothing like this had ever happened. But what did these dreams mean? He sighed and leaned his head against the mirror. It felt like something was about to happen, and it could not be good.

It was then that he realised something was wrong.

His forehead was pressed against the cold, hard surface of the mirror, pressing into his thoughts, but he was looking down towards the glass. It stood alone upon the counter, the metal surface a distorted image through its bottom. A small puddle of water remained furthest down in it. He looked at it for awhile, leaning his head to his side, as if he thought of something. Then he reached down and carefully grabbed the glass with the tips of his fingers onto the upper rim. He lifted it, careful not to touch it more than was necessary.

It was clear. The opposite wall was blurred looking through it, breaking into waves as he turned it. But the glass was perfectly clear and clean, almost unnaturally, as if he wanted to find dirt upon it. He lifted is hand, hesitated for a moment, and then pressed his thumb against it. It left a clear whirly mark upon the smooth surface. He turned it and could without problem make out the mark from the other side. He looked closely and examined it, but beside the mark he just made there were no other marks. The glass was completely clean.

Slowly the truth began to appear in his head, and he realised that…

He had never touched the glass.

He could clearly remember the feeling of the cool water running down his throat, but not the feeling of its smooth surface against the tip of his fingers.  
He placed the glass back on the counter as fear was slowly creeping up his spine.  
I need a drink, he thought.

*

"Tango Juliet. Tango Juliet, Tango Juliet."" Tango Juliet, Tango Juliet from Juliet Sierra, are you there, over?"  
Silence. Amanda sighed and heavily placed back the com-mike upon the dashboard.  
"Nothing sir, completely silent. They can't hear us"  
Fredder, her squad leader, sighed as well. The fact that they could speak to each other was only made possible by flying in tight formation, and even then she could barely hear the outer ships over all static, despite that they all flew almost wing to wing.

The radio had died only minutes ago, and they had noticed by the static when they tried to contact each other. Since then they had radio-checked Tango Juliet several times, without result.  
"Should we turn back, sir?" She could see Fredder shaking his head in the Wraith cockpit.  
"No. This means that there is something out here that is blocking our radio communications. We need to find it and check it out."  
"But sir, we can barely talk to each other, and now the radio's going all fuzzy the further we go and…"

"Heads up" a lot of static, but she heard what Anderson on the left flank said. "We got something coming up on the left. High speed. Can't see it on radar, cuz of all this fuzz, but might be something."

Amanda clasped on heir breathing mask. With a small flick of a switch she energized the firing mechanism of her Halo rockets. The Valkyrie's front began to glow with a light blue glow from the armed warheads.  
"They're coming in pretty fast, sir" said Anderson's voice again, still thick with static. "And it looks like there's something more behind them. Might be a vanguard force."

"We meet' em. Left manoeuvre and fall up on collision formation." Amanda followed Fredder as he and the rest of the squad split up and fell up on line towards the left. The engines of her Valkyrie began glowing blue, charging up into attack power. To her right and left the Wraiths wings stirred out, readying lasers. She could not see Julia, the squad's second Valkyrie pilot, but knew she was on the other side of Fredder. She steadied her grip on the controls, and waited. She could see it now, it looked like a cloud of bees, a swarm of small beings buzzing around each other in tight group as they travelled. Behind it were other dots, too far away to make out. She looked at the radar, it was so buzzed with static that she only saw one large cloud of…whatever is was.

As she looked at it it split, spreading out like water poured out across the surface of the screen. She looked up and saw that the cloud had indeed spread out: it was spreading in a half-circle in front of them, circling them. The walls forming them did not seem thinner than the cloud had been: there must be thousands of them, she thought. On her radar they had spread so much, or she was so close, that she could finally make out their individual shapes. And she realised what it was. Only one thing could be so small and be capable of space flight.

"Scourge!" She screamed across the radio. Fredder's reaction was immediate.

"Scatter!" Amanda pulled upwards, away from the group which scattered away from formation. The massive Scourge cloud broke out into small groups which followed them. She saw lasers being fired, the infinitely long beams existing for barely a second, or triggering a small explosion when they hit their goal. She stalled, going straight upwards, several Scourge on her tail, before she stopped and fell into a loop to face the attacking Zerg. They had no eyes, she thought as she faced their round, wide-opened mouths filled with rows of jagged teeth. She flicked her finger over the trigger. No eyes.

The rockets found their goal and detonated every flying Scourge in a bright blue smoke-cloud. Her heart filled with excitement, but then an even larger explosion shone up on her right, and she was forced to steer away from an object spinning quickly towards her. It was the under-belly wing of a Wraith.  
She saw several of her comrades being pursued by Scourge and the broad shapes of Mutalisk wings, their glaives spinning past the sleek ships like dazzling triangles of sickly green and pale yellow. Another ship got caught between two groups of pursuing Scourge, blowing up by a Scourge right into the cockpit.

They were dying, she thought. All of them. Her breathing mask was wet: she was crying. Every one of her comrades was dying all around her. She charged right into the Zerg fray, emptying every rocket she carried. The Zerg exploded before her, clouds of blood and bone hanging in empty space, but they were too many. Too many.  
The scourge charged her as well, approaching in never-ending numbers. Everyone she blew up seemed to appear again behind the blast. Closer and closer they came, as she cried more and more, because she did not want to die. They were blasted to bits, but came closer. She wished they would stop, not come for her, because she would die. Die like the others. She could not stop them.  
Finally she pressed the ejection button. The cockpit exploded, blasting her upwards, away from the Zerg, only seconds before the Valkyrie collided and disappeared in yellow and green smoke.

It had been a madman's decision, because she knew they were out there and coming back for her. She had hoped that they might not spot a small pilot drifting away, but they were coming. He did not dare to open her eyes, not see the truth into the eyes, its horrible talons, sharp wings and teeth. Eyes, she thought. They had no eyes. No eyes.  
She opened hers, carefully, and saw the most horrible thing she had ever seen her entire life.

The shapes that they had seen behind the Scourge cloud had not been shapes. It had been clouds of Overlords, being flanked on the sides by rows of Mutalisk. Between these forms flew countless Guardians, lumbering slowly forwards alongside the slow pacing Overlords. Their numbers were truly countless, stretching in a single large line beyond into the darkness. It was an entire Zerg fleet, Amanda realised. So many… she had never understood the concept of the "Swarm". But now she understood. They were too many. Too many. She felt that nothing could stand against force of this size. Nothing. And they were heading towards…

A great shape loomed up before her, flapping its wings to elevate itself to her height. Its body was curved, so that the wings were above here and the mouth before her, at the bottom of the curve. The mouth opened as it flew towards her, revealing two large fangs in each corner and a blood-red tongue. It has no eyes, she thought. No eyes.


	4. The beginning

The mess hall was practically empty, which wasn't strange considering the late hour. Despite this no one looked at him: only the bartender, and he only gave him a quick glance without any surprise. Beside him there was one man sitting in a table a few meters from Grant as he entered, his face buried in his glass, a janitor in a slim beige overall mopping the floor, and a man sitting by the bar dressed in a long black cloak with the hood up, so that his face was covered.

Grant did not look at any of them. He stepped right up onto the bar and sat down upon the nearest chair. It felt relaxing, he exhaled deeply and closed his eyes but for a moment. He tried to forget his fear and angst, let the relaxation of his muscles carry itself all the way into his brain, but the more he tried not to think about it the more he did, forcing itself upon his thoughts. He could not relax. Instead his brain seemed to tense, preparing itself for something. He was getting paranoid, he thought.

The bartender approached him from the middle of the bar counter.  
"Cant' sleep?" he asked. Grant nodded. He asked no more, but simply poured him a glass of beer and placed it before him. Grant did not touch it. He was afraid he might cause it to…  
Stop it, he told himself. You did nothing to that glass. You didn't cause it to… he couldn't think it. To think it would be to tell himself that it had happened. Because it had not happened. It couldn't have.

He didn't bother to read the minds of the three men, but their thoughts sneaked up upon his head without him being able to stop it. He didn't listen to them. He wasn't interested. He reached out his hand and grabbed the beer glass, only to freeze as in horror before lifting it. You can feel it, he told himself, and made himself feel the icy chill and wet condense against his fingertips. He lifted it, slowly, and rejoiced into the harsh taste which filled his mouth, the cool liquid raising hairs on his back and neck as the cold numbed his throat and spread out into the rest of his body. It felt good, it felt true. The very act of feeling something told him that we was awake, that he was alive. That reality was here and now, and he wasn't stuck into some strange dream with voices echoing back and forth into his head.

He sighed as he lowered the glass onto the counter. He was finally a bit relaxed. He knew now that he was free of the dream. For now. But that mattered enough. His mind wandered a bit as he gulped down some more beer, but it was nothing in particular in the minds of the three men in the room with him. The bartender thought of when his shift was over, and how much he hated working night. The janitor thought of his fourteen-month old daughter. The man nearest the entrance thought of his wife back on Mar Sara. Some more beer. It was nothing in particular.  
Then he realised something. And as he did realise this a horrible feeling flushed into his mind, causing the hairs on his arms to rise with shivers, caused sweat to burst from his palms so that he nearly dropped the glass, caused his mouth to dry out and erasing any memory of taste.

He slowly reared his head to his left, and saw the fourth man. The man dressed in a long black cloak with a deep hood. He sat quiet, sipped his small glass of clear liquid, and it seemed nothing strange with him, besides that he covered his face. But it was not this that was the element of Grant's horror.  
He could not feel the man.  
Were the man sat there seemed to be an empty hole. Not empty in the sense that no one was sitting there, but as if…there were nothing there. Grant felt only darkness. He could feel the thoughts of the other three men, as clearly as he ever had, but not this man. He could not get into the head of the man.

The man sipped once more on his drink, more thoughtfully this time, and then slowly turned his head towards Grant. For a second Grant saw only the dark, intimidating hole which was the opening of the mans hood, then he felt a strange feeling in his forehead. It felt like someone was feeling with one's fingertips across his forehead, and then these fingers sunk through his skin and into his brain. He knew it was the man. The man was getting inside his head. He tried to fight it, but the man was unbelievably stronger than him. And then he heard words, words from inside his head, but he knew they came from the man, from that circle of shadow which looked at him with its eyeless gaze.

_I can see you_

Grant turned and ran, knocking over his glass on the process. He did not care who many who saw or what they thought, he just wanted to get away from it all, from this man and from voices inside his own head. He only made it outside the mess hall before he felt grips of steel grasping his arms, swinging him around and pinning him up against a wall. The black, eyeless hole were only inches from his, and he heard the mans slow, deep breathing pressing into his ears. He was breathing too slow, Grant thought. Too slow for an ordinary man.

"You have a tendency to run, young Grant" The man whispered. The voice was harsh and had a metallic undertone, it felt dead and empty, as if this man really had no feelings. As if he was dead.  
"How do you know my name" Grant asked trembling, his tongue flicking in his mouth from the vibrations of his muscles so that he slipped on the words._  
I know a lot about you_  
It was the mans voice, just inside his own head. Grant pushed himself further up the wall, as if he attempted to sink through it. He felt only that he wanted to run, run as fast as he could away from this man and from it all.  
"You can't run forever" He was even more horrified to the fact that man was constantly reading his thoughts. No, he thought, no no no get out my head. Get out get out get out_  
Get out of my head!_

He felt a massive surge of power rushing from his mind and striking at the foreign presence in his head. It punched right into the cloud of consciousness and ploughed it away from him, pushing it backwards back into reality. It took only a split second, and then he was free: his mind was his own again. The man was still pinning him up against the wall, the iron grip of fists clasping his wrists as strong as ever, but now he felt something radiating out from the depths of the dark hood; fear. He could not see the mans eyes, but he knew that he was afraid. He knew because he was inside the mans head. He had gone further, and was doing to the man what he had done to him.

He retreated back into himself, horrified at what he had done. What was he becoming? He did not want to do it against anyone, not after feeling it himself. It was horrible.  
The man had let go of his hold on Grant, and backed away form him, but made no new effort to feel his thoughts.  
"Impossible" the man muttered. "I was trained by the most powerful psychics in the Dominion. The Masters themselves. They taught me everything. Said I was the best. I should not fail against some one like you."  
He attacked Grants mind once again, but Grant was prepared and knew what he was going to do. He deflected the mans attack and set up a barrier, and felt the man feeling, stalking around the outside of it, looking for a way in.  
"What are you?" the man asked, and there were a fearful curiosity in his voice, that he really did not know what Grant was, and had not expected not knowing it.  
"I don't know" Grant said after a long silence. "I don't know why I can do these things. Or how. I was almost hoping you could tell me"

The man was quiet, and bowed his head to his side.  
"They said you were powerful", he said at last. "That's why they sent me. But so much power…"  
Grant felt horrified again. "I don't want this power. I did not ask for it."  
"But you were given it. And one thing I learned is that one should use one's power. Why me, you say. But some one has to. Some one has to do it. And I think you're the only one"

Grant flinched. "The only one to do what?"  
The man came closer, so that warm, slow breath drew over Grants face, and his metallic voice echoed into his ears.  
"You know what I am talking about. You've felt it too. You've seen it. You've had the dreams."  
Grants heart began to pound faster than it had ever done. A rush of cold sweat swept across his skin.  
"You've seen what's coming" the man continued. Seen the power, the force, the hunger. Heard the screams and the voices. Seen the eyes. The glowing eyes."

Grant began to shake. The man was close now, closer than ever, and this time Grant felt the eyes staring out from underneath the blackness, but they were not eyes, not human eyes, for they harboured no feelings, no hate or love, no courage or fear, no joy or sadness. They were the eyes of a machine, something that had been created and controlled for a specific purpose: hunt and kill. It was what Grant had feared his entire life, and now it had found him.  
"Its' coming for you" The mans voice was no more than a whisper. "I just felt it, but it wasn't meant for me. It is looking for you. It is coming for you. Coming to get you. And you cannot run, and you cannot hide, for wherever you go, the eyes can see you."

"Attention. Attention. All pilots report to flight deck. This is not a drill. All pilots report to flight deck. I repeat, this is not a drill. All pilots report to flight deck. This is not…"  
The computerized female voice of the announcement system cut through the silence and awakened Grant from his paralyzing fear. The man looked up into the ceiling, onto the flashing red lights.  
"It has begun" he said. "They are coming."  
And then he disappeared.

Grant looked around in surprise and horror at where the man had stood. He could no longer feel the warmth of his breath over his mouth. He was gone.  
"What is coming?" Grant shouted out into the empty hallway. "What is happening, and why is it coming for me? What am I supposed to do?"__

Fight. 

The voice was only there for a second, and then he was gone. Grant looked from side to side and had just time to distinguish a small shimmer furthest down the hallway, like above the ground on a very hot day, before it turned the corner and was gone.


	5. The end

Although he wasn't asleep Grant wasn't the first one to arrive to flight deck. Sgt Lorharn stood already and received orders from the Deck-Master, Second in command. Grant wondered fleetingly where Lt Colonel Wickman were as he grabbed his helmet from the racks, but the thought remained only in his head for a second, and was then replaced by the cold, bitter fear. Lorharn noted his presence, but were still under briefing as Grant clasped his helmet firmly.

The rest of Juliet India had time to arrive before Lorharn and the other squad-leaders were free of the briefing meeting. Lorharn turned around as well while putting on his own helmet. Grant noted that, despite the live situation, his hands were perfectly steady as he snapped it across his chin.  
"Alright guys, this is big. A large Zerg force is approaching fast. So far only vanguard forces, Scourge and Mutalisks, but lot's of em. There might be other forces on approach behind, they can't tell yet, so our job is to stall this force long enough for the Battlecruisers to be mobilized. Remember those Cruisers are vulnerable while docked, and only a handful of Scourge can wreck havoc there. So get them."  
The entire squad nodded. They were prepared. They were ready. Lorharn waited a few seconds, and then he continued:  
"There is a lot of em. This fight is gonna be rough, just so you guys know. But we can get through this. I know we can. So get to it! Mount Wraiths!"

The clapper of feet was only heard in the nearby vicinity as the squad stepped of, the sound drenched by the voices of the hundreds of pilots mounting and receiving orders. Grant climbed the ladder into his Wraith, but the feeling of what the captain had said could not leave him. They were many, he knew that. How he did not know, but the attackers were many. Too many. He shrugged his head to get the thoughts out of him. They were not his. Someone else was setting them into his mind. Someone else was thinking for him.

As he slipped into the narrow, leathery seat and laid his hands onto the controls before him he sighed. He was a pilot, and he was in control. He could do this. He clutched his hands onto the handlebars. He was in control.  
"India Alpha, from India Echo, Radio check, over." It went without thought, as always.  
"Check loud and clear, India Echo. India Alpha out." Grant flipped switches and pressed buttons, his body functioning without his head. He had finally found how to avoid the dreams and thoughts, he had unplugged his brain and his body was working without it. It did not need it. He was only feeling and instinct. He was a pilot, and a damn good one, to say it to oneself.

The Wraith swayed from side to side as the landing clamps released his craft into the freedom of space. Then the hovering motors found their force and the craft backed slowly, reverse-thrusting until he well passed the dock, and then he throttled forward and turned sharply. As he passed more and more Wraiths unlocked themselves and flew alongside him, greeting him as a friend by laying themselves alongside him. They poured into the bottleneck opening of the Dock-exit, weaving into themselves to form a single large column, a massive snake of power which would crush and grind everything in its path. They drew strength from each other, rejoicing in the power of the group. Together they were truly invincible.

As the massive dark form which was space, the massive cloud were hope were small distant glowing dots and everything else was pitch darkness greeted them they fell out, swarming like ants out to warfare into a single large wall of hot barrels pointing towards their target. More and more came, each taking their place and falling out into line. It was exercised, drilled, repeated into every single head of the wall. They were the perfect soldiers, those who had freed their heads from their bodies and were only feeling and instinct. It all worked by routine, so that nothing existed besides the combat. For they all knew that it was only now, when they were flying into battle, that they were truly alive. And when the battle ended, no matter how it ended, they would be dead. All would be dead. Only some would be alive to die again some other day.

The fierce pride swelled into Grant's chest as he too fell into formation. His ship was ready, his barrels were loaded, his missiles armed. But as he fell beside his comrades he too saw what lie ahead of him, and also fell into silence.

It was another wall. A wall so thick that no stars shone through it. It was still far away, but Grant knew that this wall consisted of tens of thousands of Scourge. Probably more. It was a force of a size he had thought impossible, that so many bodies could exist in a single place. It was two walls of enormous size facing each other, slowly approaching to await the inevitable collision. When they would collide the very bowels of space would shook, and the scream of death would carry out into the stars. For they all knew, every single one on the battlefield, that it was victory or death. The long, cold, inevitable death awaited one side. Which one, would soon be decided.

"All units, open laser-fire on my mark" The voice of the Major was so commanding that everyone immediately obeyed, relishing in the authority of it. Then it gave them all a sign of relief, that the Pilot-chief was here as well with them and was facing the same thing they were. "Target acquiring is free, there's so many of em so they will all hit and we can thin their ranks. On my command the squad-leaders take command and every squad works on its own." He paused for a second.  
"Good luck, guys. I think we're gonna need it."

Grant fired blindly. It didn't matter, the wall was so thick that every shot hit home. Thin red lines stretched from one side to the other, existing for only a fraction of a second before disappearing again. There were so many lines that the space between the walls were coloured entirely red, and the outmost part of the wall on the further side exploded in showers of blood, bone and volatile chemicals. But only the outmost part, the wall remained solid. And it showed no signs of diminishing. Instead more parts filled up from behind, quicker than the others, so that the walls approached themselves even faster, rushing towards the other, no longer being able to uphold the wait but seeking the collision, seeking death and destruction.

"Take command!" Was shouted in the headphones. Grant identified Lorharns Wraith not far from his, and took note on it. The Scourge were approaching faster and faster, accelerating towards him, their mouths open wide and jagged teeth sticking out, as if wanting to devour the Wraith before them. Closer and closer, Grant worked his lasers but they came closer and closer, approaching faster that he wanted. Lorharn signalled and he broke out of formation, away from the collision, going upwards. But the wall was high, and still they came closer. Closer and closer.  
They have no eyes, Grant thought. No eyes.

*

She saw them. She gazed through the invisible eyes of her minions and saw the wall of steel and hot laser that reared up in front of her. She saw them all, and she looked. Looked for her prey. Looked for why she had travelled here.

_Find him._

The thought went out from her mind with her very power, and they responded in awe to that power, turning with every flick of her thoughts. She was crawled up into a small space, her body almost sleeping, her wings folded across her curled legs and arms, but her mind radiated with power out into space, into every minion and she transmitted her thoughts, made them obey.

_Find him._

She looked once again onto the wall of steel, much closer this time, and smiled in her heart.

_Kill._

_ *_

Space itself shook and rifts and tears fell across its very fabric, twisting reality and distorting the present. The shock reared every ounce of space across an impossible distance and seemed felt by every living being in existence. It was blow to life itself, a shockwave of despair against everything that existed. The sound was the sound of clashing gods, of two beings of supreme power colliding with each other on the plane of the common man where they did not belong. So was the blow a blow of a different nature, and extortion of a power so vast that it could not exist in the mortal realm. And so it expunged itself unto the minds of men who shook alongside space itself in awe of the force of the blast.

Grant worked heavily to stabilise himself from the reeling shock. His very head was ringing from the sound that had vibrated out from the centre of the collision. Still he did not dare to look at it, not to face the incomprehensible truth of what had actually happened. Not to behold the terror and destruction that had come from the shock of the meeting forces.  
"Gather up, guys!" Lorharns voice called them all from the relieving land of paralyzing fear and thrust them into the cold, vibrating reality once again. Like so many times before. Grant wondered how Lorharn could still think in a situation like this. Grant did not want to know what he was thinking. But as always the Sergeant could maintain a chilly cool, and spread that to his group. Grant could already feel the horror dissipating from him, being replaced by the same instinct and routine as his brain was being unplugged and he was going into combat.

Something exploded to his right. He did not know what it was. But something whispered a warning, and with lightning-speed he reared up and right, rolling over the Scourge who had passed through the cloud of debris and would have hit him. Instead he positioned himself behind them and took them out with a few well-placed shots. They were blasted to bits, but soon replaced by more coming towards him. He took down one, two, but was forced to dodge the other. He left a blast behind him that told him someone had not been so lucky. Go right, and fire. The Scourge exploded. Get those of that guys tail. A few shots, and the other guy was clear. It was a dance, a dance of excruciating speed, where death was always only a few milliseconds away, but dodged in the very last second.

Shapes whizzed past him only inches it seemed, but he could not stop. He listened only to the whispering voice in his head, the one that drove him further and further forward, the one that enabled him to still live. Everywhere people died, but he could not care. He knew only himself, and his own path forward. The cloud of Scourge was so thick that it seemed impossible to get through, but he was really doing the impossible, dodging and skimming and blasting his way forward. Where he was going he did not know, only that this enabled him to survive, and that only that mattered.

Then the Scourge disappeared, and he found himself into free space again. It was no one around him. They had gone without any warning, and he felt nothing that told him that they were after him again.  
Then his mind blasted, and he travelled out into space, at impossible speeds so that the darkness shifted and blurred, arriving and seeing a fleeting glance of a crouched figure sitting pressed together, but radiating a power he had never felt. And the figure lifted its head and gazed with eyes like two drops of fresh blood, and a voice echoed a thousand times inside his head.

_Him._

Then it stopped, and he gasped air into his lungs. He was back in his cockpit, but still into empty space. He was breathing heavily, fear gripping his body. Him. They were coming for him. They were com  
A warning stabbed through his thoughts and they scattered like a school of disturbed fish. He quickly reared right, but his craft shook as the force of the projectile scratched his wing. A large shape of pale yellow and sickly green flew past at incredible speed, and he knew what was chasing him. He dodged and flew in a zigzag pattern to avoid the blazing projectiles of the Mutalisks behind him. They were many, he realised by the sheer number of shots flying past him. He darted left and right, always a split second ahead. It was not much.

It was not enough. The force hit him on the left and blasted away the stabilising fin on his thrusters causing his craft to go in to a spin as the force of the thrusters was directed sideways. The world disappeared into a swirling vortex of whirling colours and flashing lights and warning signals. Frantically he flicked everything he could, swayed his controls left and right, not really knowing what he was doing. But he was doing something, and somehow he knew it was the right thing.

A massive explosion rocked his craft and dislodged it from its course, towards something that was not good. He knew that. He quickly pressed his eject button, and tensed his muscles as the force compressed his spine as he flew straight upwards. A mere second afterwards the Wraith crashed into a control tower, the force of the explosion propelling him and his seat away in a rushing wave of heat. He had lost his craft, his companion on so many missions. The only woman he had ever truly had. That which he had truly loved.

He was floating above the space station, drifting casually in space which was not so empty anymore. Hundreds, no thousands of Zerg were circling above the station in intricate pattern which displayed everything but an animal mind. It was intelligent beyond the understanding of a simple man. It was warfare conducted on an almost perfect level, the innumerable Swarm under a conductor's baton, lifting and dropping, falling into bridges of attack runs, ending in crescendos of explosions which lighted the dark cold of space. Across the surface below him swarmed Zerg in countless numbers, falling into tunnels, breaking up the outer plating of the platform to access the inner quarters. Grant could not help but admire it in aw, for what else could he do? It was admirable, it was wonderful, it was perfect. It was beautiful.

Something hit his seat in the back, drawing him from his thoughts, and propelled him at high speed towards the surface of the station. The metal approached with a speed quicker than he could think. He felt only a moment of panic, that's was all he had time for. His fall and his thoughts were interrupted by something grabbing his seat a few meters above the ground, causing him to fall out of it and landing hard on the metal surface. He had lost enough speed from whatever had caught him so the fall was not hard, and he did not injure himself. But he looked up at what had caught him, and felt his heart continue to drop and shatter against the cold, hard metal surface.

He did not know what it was, but it was powerful. He could feel that. Feel the power radiating out from its upright torso, with the two folded claws forming angelic wings onto it's back, so that it really appeared to be demon, with its six spider-like legs supporting its long back-body, and its disturbingly human torso with an eerie smile rising high up above him. From that point above the eyes glowed, glowed with a malicious power and cunning that shocked him. For he felt that this thing was thinking. Thinking not like an animal, but thinking more than a human being. It was deadly, and it was smart.

It hissed at him, the sound being incomprehensibly alien and animal, but not to him, for he knew what it meant. He felt the words and meaning of it. He knew what it was going to do. It was going to kill him, and it was going to enjoy doing it. But still he did not react when it latched its claw and drove it into his stomach. He felt he did not want to. Felt that he did not need to.  
The pain lasted only a fraction of a second, before being replaced by a numbing sensation which began in the stomach and spread throughout his body, evil liquid cursing inside his veins. It set every muscle in a state of complete relaxation, not cutting them from his brain but simply not making them work anymore.

When the feeling had reached his brain the creature picked him up and began to walk. He did not care. His brain was entirely disconnected from himself now, and it felt truly wonderful. There was no pain, no worry, no fear. Grant knew, then and there, that he was going to die. He was finally going to die, and it felt like greeting a missed friend, like coming home from a long wait. He had waited a long time, but it was finally over. This was it. This was the end.

A large building appeared before him, its surface clotted with organic shapes of long tubes and sacs and similar. Zerg flowed here, many of them, constantly building upon what had once been a human tower, but what was now conquered by the Zerg. Grant looked childishly at it, wondering what it really was, but he did not care. He just wished to die. A fleeting sensation made him look closer at one of the green-coloured sacs filled with liquid as they came closer. Something was inside it, resting, it looked like an animal, its skin leathery and hard, spikes and thorns erupting across its arms, long limbs ending in claws growing from its back. But as he came closer he saw the face of the thing and despite the hideous transformations it was undergoing, the face was still clearly human.

It was then Grant realised he wasn't going to die. It was much, much worse.

He tried to struggle, tried to fight the cloud of dust and clogg that was thick inside his brain, but he could not. He was afraid now, more afraid than he had ever been, because his mind was entirely separate from his body and brain, and he could clearly think and knew what was going to happen. He tried to scream as the drones took his limb body, but he could not. He tried to fight when they carried up deep inside the building, but he could not. He tried to break free as they stuffed him inside a waiting cocoon, a prison of warm sap and soft membranes, but he could not. He could only watch as they closed the gap onto the outside world, and left him. All alone. All alone with his head.

He felt connected into something, and found himself looking at the dark shape, feel the radiating power once again, but this time it smiled, smiled with the smile of the killer as he sees his next victim.

_You're mine now. _

Grant felt his body changing, his skin melting like hot wax, his muscles tensing like ironbars, his hands and feet growing claws. But most of all he felt his mind expanding, swelling to almost burst the bars of his prison, growing to big for his head to contain. He drew on reserves from inside himself, dams of energy feeding into his brain, providing him with a power he had never felt before. He felt, no he knew, that he could truly do anything. And he liked it.


	6. A new beginning

He was waked by the calling voice in his head. He did not know how long he had slept. It felt like he had been in here for a century that had passed like a second. But now he was awake, and someone was calling for him. And he answered.  
Claws broke out from his forearms, how he did not know, and neither did he bother. He felt himself charging them with power, power that came from inside himself, from inside his head. It shredded the thin cocoon with ease, bowing at his power. He smiled.

As he stepped outside he was saw the great, dark shape once again, but this time it greeted him, smiled down upon his face, and he smiled back, allowed himself to bask in its glorious power. The shape shrank, its power condensing into a smaller form, until it formed flesh in the figure that was walking up to greet him. Immediately he loved her. Her steps resonated throughout the chamber with the power held within her body. Her skin glistened like the blade of a knife. Her teeth were the marble tombstones of her enemies, displaying in her smile of pleasure, the pleasure of the killing. Her hair was strands of suffocating web. Her fingers perfected like scalpels. Her wings folded out in awe, and she truly was the angel of death, the one with the glowing eyes, like two drops of fresh blood.

"My queen" he staggered forth, unable to control his voice in the presence of such a being.  
She smiled broader, the smile of the hunter finding his prey, the smile of the killer watching his victim, and she spoke and her voice was echoing droplets of blood upon the floor, of flesh slowly being ripped apart.  
"Arise, my servant. Arise, and embrace the glory that is our birthright. Arise, and claim the power that lies hidden within you. Arise to a new beginning"

He could feel the power, pulsating alongside his own heart. It was a power he had never realised he had, and less did he realise why he had not used it. He extended his mind, a thousand times further into space, and heard at once the echoing thunder of a thousand voices, a thousand voices crying out in rage and despair.  
"Listen" she said. "Listen to the voice of the Swarm. Listen, and embrace it. Take control."

He listened, and he heard the cry of the Swarm, the masse of voices that was its being, and the power that it all held. They spoke of trampled enemies, of levelled cities, of overrun starships. They spoke of the taste of blood in one's mouth, of flesh shredding under one's claws, of bodies shattering under flying needles and piercing talons. He listen to the song of the Swarm, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

He fell to his knees before her appearance, and swore to her, swore his allegiance and loyalty.  
"By your will my queen. I live to serve. Let all who oppose the Queen of Blades feel the wrath of the Swarm."

A hand was placed under his chin and it lifted his face until their eyes gazed into each other, each blood-red, like drops of fresh blood.  
_You're mine now _she said, and her eyes glowed with incomprehensible power.


End file.
